


A Dreadul Afternoon

by rosesofred



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Doctor - Freeform, Domestic Discipline, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Needles, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Sexual, OTK, Over the Knee, Paddle, Sickfic, Spanking, bertie is a brat, newts, shot, tantrums, yucky medicine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:41:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23357164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosesofred/pseuds/rosesofred
Summary: Bertie Wooster thought it the most excellent of ideas to feign illness. Of course, one must never underestimate the valet that cares for you on a daily basis. Especially not one as intellectually gifted as Jeeves, and most definitely not when he wields a weapon as terrible as The Paddle.
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves & Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Comments: 18
Kudos: 65





	1. A Dreadful Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I sincerely hope you’re all safe and healthy during the apocalypse. It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything so I apologize if I’m out of practice but I tried my best to make everyone seem in character.
> 
> I know the world has been really rough lately but I hope this fic cheers anyone up who might need it. I myself am sick and in quarantine so writing this has really helped make me feel better. Let me know what you guys think in the comments, I’d love to hear back your thoughts on if you like it and want to read more. Stay healthy everyone!
> 
> (Also I’m writing and editing this on my phone so I apologize for any grammatical errors or weird formatting.)

It was a horribly dreary day out, one promising unpleasant social obligations with no escape. Bertie’s mouth scrunched up into a deep frown as he sunk further into his warm bed sheets. Today the young lad was due to meet a Miss Elice, or was it Alice? He couldn’t muster up enough will to care what the girl’s name was, if he was being perfectly honest. The Nephew Crusher, Aunt Agatha, had rang just the day before to inform him of his supposedly betrothed. God forbid the old bat ask him his opinion before simply giving him away to the first girl of a respectable family that happened to pop by.

“Is it not to your liking, Sir?”

Bertie turned his head to see his trusty butler standing in the doorway. The tall man had brought in his breakfast on a tray not too long ago but being so caught up in his own misery, Bertie had failed to remember. Looking over to the tray, he groaned loudly and buried his head in his pillow, flipping over onto his belly to wallow in his agony. 

“I see, Sir.” Jeeves made his way smoothly across the room, picking up the tray and leaving without a sound.

It was quiet for a while, the only noises being the tick tick tick of his clock and the soft pattering of rain against glass. Lifting his head for air, Bertram looked around to find himself alone. At least he had some time to enjoy being a bachelor before his short happy life came to a halt. Dragging himself out of bed, the grouchy man stomped over to his window, throwing it open in an angry gesture. “Bally bad luck is what it is,” he grumbled. Then, turning on his heel, he took a few long strides back to his warm bed and plunged in.

Bertie was contently snuggled back into his blankets when he heard the distinct sound of a window being shut and no longer heard the calming sounds of the outside world. Straining his neck as he turned to look back, Wooster scowled at his handsomely dressed butler who now stood beside the window, drawing the shades back. “I’m afraid keeping the window shut is in your best interest, Sir.”

“And why exactly is that?”

Jeeves tilted his head and clasped his hands in front of him, posture perfect and straight. “You may catch a cold, Sir.”

Bertie simply snorted and threw his head back onto his pillow, when the idea struck him. Jeeves, the absolute genius! He couldn’t very well go to meet his aunt and miss-whats-her-name if he were sick, now could he? Feigning a cough, the smaller man mustered up whatever acting skills he may have and put on a show. “Oh Jeeves,” he wailed. “I do think I may well have a cold!”

Making quick time, Jeeves was at his bedside in a moment and held the back of his hand against Bertie’s forehead. Slightly taken aback by the contact, Wooster blushed softly but kept his face straight for the sake of his lie. “I see,” the butler concluded. Smiling to himself, Bertie once again relaxed in his bed, his bachelor sanctuary, as the taller man brought him tea and pudding. Can’t have a cold without tea and pudding, I dare say!

Bertie could hear his man Jeeves from the living room, no doubt calling up Aunt Agatha and Miss-Whomever to cancel said plans and inform them of his sudden but unfortunate illness. Now he just had to ride out the day pretending to be sick as a dog, and tomorrow he could go on his merry way however he pleased. Deciding he was indeed the smartest man alive, Bertram settled in for a well deserved nap.

It couldn’t have been long, it felt like he’d only just dozed off when something jolted him from his rest. Jeeves emerged from the bathroom, towel over his arm, as he walked through the bedroom out to the living room. He could have sworn he heard talking, but who could be visiting him in such awful weather, and so early? Then his door opened and a big burly man walked in carrying a medical bag. He seemed the sort to have been in the military at some point, definitely a stern look to his mustached face. “Good day, young sir. I take it you are my patient?”

Bertie sat up in bed nervously and shot a pleading look to his butler, but received no explanation as to what this mammoth of a man was doing in his bedchamber. “You are?...”

“Right, the name is Dr. Oswald Baker. You’re a Mister Bertram Wooster?”

“Yes, I- I” he stammered uselessly as he clung to his bedsheets for comfort.

Dr. Oswald stretched out his large hand, a stiff smile on his face. Reaching his hand out timidly, Bertie shook it lightly. “Now,” Dr. Baker sat on the edge of his bed, setting the bag down on the floor. “What seems to be the problem?” 

“Ah, well I- uhm, I suppose…” Cursing himself in his head, Bertram once again looked to his butler for help. Jeeves stood perfectly still against the opposite wall near the door, watching calmly but offering no help out of the grave he seemed to be digging for himself. “I’m sick,” was all Wooster could muster.

Chuckling, the doctor opened his bag and searched around for whatever hellish equipment he was planning on torturing the young man with. “Right, that you are.” Pulling out a stethoscope and thermometer, he instructed Bertie to remove his shirt, which he did if not a bit begrudgingly. He placed the thermometer under the man’s tongue, checking his wrist watch for the time. As the cold metal slid from spot to spot across Wooster’s now shivering chest, he sulked at the prospect of being found out. “Any congestion?”

Bertie sighed and shook his head.

“Cough?”

Nodding his head yes, the young brunette gave a forced cough, realizing too late how it might have appeared. Dr. Baker gave him a quizzical look, but took note and continued the examination. It took only a few minutes more, checking his throat for swelling and mouth for any signs of infection. Feeling content with his exam, the doctor took the thermometer from him and looked at it in surprise. “Right, if we’re done here,” Bertie snapped curtly. 

“Just one last thing, I’m afraid.”

Bertie eyed him warily and crossed his arms, feeling much too out of sorts to be dealing with such nonsense at this hour. He hadn’t even had a proper breakfast! The doctor patted Bertram’s knee, going into his bag again to find god-knows-what. When he pulled out a long and ominous looking needle, Wooster’s eyes grew in fear and his mouth hung agape. “I say!” He looked from the needle to the doctor, then back at the needle. “I do say!”

“Oh it’s not so bad, Mister Wooster. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“If you expect me to take a blasted evil shot like that, you must have lost your marbles!”

“I do, now let’s get this business over with, shall we? Onto your stomach please.”

“Onto my-” Bertie’s heart dropped as he realized what the doctor was asking. He felt the blood drain from his face and a knot begin to form in his gut. This bloody awful day was turning into a right mess and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. “I think I can do without a shot, thank you very much.”

“Nonsense, you need your medicine. Onto your stomach now.” When the stubborn young man still made no move to cooperate, the doctor turned to the tall butler standing idly next to the door. “Might you give me a hand?”

Wordlessly, Jeeves walked across the room, giving Bertie panic as he realized just how deep he was into this mess. “No no!” Wooster shot out of bed, holding his hands up in a placating manner. “It's not necessary, really-”

“We don’t have all day for this,” Dr. Baker reminded him. He motioned for Jeeves and to Bertie’s utter horror, the blasted giant of a butler actually grabbed him by the arm! It was gentle of course, but Wooster was too far in shock to fight back as his valet guided him to lie down on the bed. Applying slight pressure to his back, Jeeves held him in place easily while the evil doctor made quick work of lowering Bertie’s trousers and plunging the needle into his innocent pale skin. 

Yelping at the pinch from the needle, Wooster’s face burned in shame at being so exposed in front of a complete stranger. True, Jeeves had seen him naked plenty of times, as he helped him change and drew him baths, but being so pointedly exposed in such a manner was just bally awful. Not to mention, the doctor he’d only just met today was now staring at his hind quarters! He squirmed a bit, wishing for it to be over when he felt the doctor put a bandage on the spot he’d just so rudely stuck with a needle.

“There, nothing to fuss over.” He couldn’t be sure which one of them it was, but one of the men holding him captive rearranged his pants for him, returning his shattered dignity. Bertie slowly stood up, rubbing at his now sore backside and glaring daggers at the floor. Dr. Baker slapped him on the shoulder jovially, almost laughing as he bid him a good day and left the room with his traitorous valet. When Bertram looked up, a furious scowl across his pursed lips, he noticed he was now alone in the room. 

Too frustrated to return to bed, he made his way to the bathroom to find Jeeves had drawn him a hot bath. Thank god, that would at least help melt some of the tension in his shoulders. Stripping quickly, Bertie lowered himself into the bath, sighing happily at the simple luxury of being submerged in hot soapy water. 

He laid in the tub for a long while, playing over the events that just transpired, feeling his already red face grow even hotter. His poor stomach growled and he decided enough was enough, he needed something to eat. Washing up quickly, Bertram got out and toweled himself dry, giving himself a quick shave as well. He wrapped a towel around his waist, walking into his bedroom to get changed. To his surprise, Jeeves had laid out a spiffy new pair of pajamas on his freshly made bed.

Bertie looked at the clock and tiptoed to his door, peeking his head around to see where Jeeves was. Must be cooking up a spot of lunch. Being recently embarrassed in his own home and feeling a hunger coming on that would make a ravenous dog envious, Bertram decided to venture outside. It was a quarter to noon, plenty of time to take a nice stroll down to the club and spend an evening with his mates.

Anything was better than staying inside the whole bally day with Jeeves treating him like some wounded animal. His mind made up, Bertie went to his closet and picked out a fresh suit, choosing the new dandelion tie that Jeeves detested so. He quickly changed, dashing a look to the door every few minutes to make sure his valet wasn’t nearby. Grabbing his cane, Bertram waltz out to his living room, a pep in his step as he quietly dashed to his front door. Slowly undoing the front lock, he was too focused on being quiet to notice an offput butler creeping up behind him.

A strong hand grabbed his shoulder and Bertie yelped like a startled school boy, spinning around to face his overprotective valet. “I say, Jeeves, you gave me quite the start.”

“Might I inquire as to what you are doing in such attire, out of bed?”

“Well I-” he pointed to the door, trying to explain his way out. “A spot of fresh air. Good for the lungs and all.”

“I’m afraid I must advise against it in your current condition.”

“Jeeves,” he all but whined.

“Right this way, Sir. You need your rest.” He put a warm hand across Bertie’s back, guiding him back into the bedroom.

“But Jeeves,” he started once they stood in front of his bed. The taller man began unbuttoning Bertram’s blazer, and in total exasperation, Bertie actually shoved his hands away. “I can go out if I please.” With a firm nod of the head, Wooster made his point and stood his ground.

Jeeves narrowed his eyes, a resolute look on his otherwise calm features. “That would be explicitly against the doctor’s orders.”

“Well he’s a right quack, I say I can and will go outside!” The valet sighed, turning and walking off into the living room to fetch something. “Jeeves?” he inquired, a bit surprised at his man’s response. He walked to the doorway, peering out to see what the solemn man was doing. Jeeves was walking back towards him, holding something treacherous in his right hand. “No!” It was the blasted wooden paddle Aunt Agatha had specially made for him. Bertie backed up, sprinting for the bathroom and making it just in time to slam the door in Jeeves’ face. The man had outrageously long legs to be able to walk so fast.

Heart pounding, Bertram backed up further into the room, realizing too late that his valet had his own set of keys and that he was truly in a fit of trouble now.

“I won’t go outside! I’ll stay right here, inside,” he tried. To his horror, the door swung open and a not too pleased looking butler stood in the doorway.

“Very good, sir,” Jeeves commented as he walked forward. Panicking, Bertie darted away from him and around the tub, giving himself a healthy distance from the clearly insane man with a paddle.

“Jeeves, be reasonable.”

“When it comes to your health, Sir, I’m afraid I must be firm.”

“I won’t go out! I’ll go right to bed.”

Pausing now, Jeeves folded his arms, the paddle still plainly in sight. “I am under strict orders from your Aunt Agatha to keep you inside. In her own words, the lady has instructed me to ‘put the little blighter across my knee if he gives me trouble’.”

Eyes going comically wide, Wooster gulped in fear. “But Jeeves,” he complained. “I won’t give you trouble. Promise.”

“I believe a slight reminder is due, Sir.” Then, with striking speed capable only of peeved off valets, Jeeves reached out and grabbed the protesting man by his jacket collar. Leading him quickly back to the bed, the butler sat down and began unbuckling his belt, ignoring Berties pleas and whines. Getting the belt loose, he unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down to Wooster’s knees, wasting no time in flipping the slight man across one sturdy thigh. Bertram grunted softly at the impact of being thrown over someone’s knee, struggling immediately to get back up.

When he found himself thoroughly trapped, Bertie instead threw his hands back to protect his already sore backside from the impending onslaught he was about to receive. “Please,” he wailed, kicking his feet. “I won’t leave! Please don’t use it, Jeeves!”

Sighing softly, the butler simply gathered up the young man’s hands and held them against his back with a strong grip. It was fairly easy to restrain the young master, as he was much smaller and shorter than Jeeves. He didn’t enjoy disciplining Bertie in the slightest, but was thankful at least that it wasn’t too much of a fight when it needed to be done. His mind made, the valet raised his hand and slammed the paddle down onto the man’s soft posterior. Bertie cried out in pain, writhing as though he’d just been branded.

“No, Jeeves, please! It hurts!”

Snorting, the taller man readjusted him on his knee, tucking him in closer. “I do believe that to be the point, Sir.” With that he brought the paddle down again, and again, and again. He found a steady rhythm, going from one side to the other, effectively covering every inch of the poor man’s backside in what he guessed was a blotchy red. 

Having mentally counted to 15, Jeeves decided that was enough and released the blubbering man’s hands. He was about to comfort him, lift him up into a well deserved hug, when Bertie shot off his lap, scurrying away like a scorned animal.

“That was unfair!” Bertie hastily pulled his pants up, buttoning them so they wouldn’t fall down. “I did nothing to warrant such treatment!” he shot at the surprised butler. 

Eyebrows raised, Jeeves stood and walked to the dresser, setting the paddle down in plain sight. He faced Bertie to address him properly, putting on a stony expression to hide his hurt. “Lunch will be served shortly. I expect to see you in bed, in your pajamas.” Giving him a stern look, Jeeves got only a sour grimace in return as Bertram kept his hands back to protect his sore rump. “Very good, Sir.” It was his own way of warning the rebellious young man, saying that a trip across his knee was not too far out of sight if he acted foolishly again.

So, with a heavy heart Jeeves returned to the soup he’d been preparing for his young master. He’d disciplined Bertram many times before, and seen many an unsightly tantrum, but having the man refuse comfort afterwards was a startling new experience. It started a long while ago, when silly young Bertie had royally flayed himself and found himself in Aunt Agatha’s line of fire. Being so close to Christmas, and being too far away to attend to the foolhardy man herself, she had a strong wooden paddle specially crafted and shipped off to her ridiculous nephew as an ironically satire Christmas gift.

She’d phoned Jeeves the same day, explaining what she needed of him and promising him employ in her own manor if the young man sacked him. To both their relief, when it came time for the valet to properly attend to the thick headed man, Bertie had taken it very well. He’d fought it at first, saying it was unfair and promising perfect behavior until the day he died, but then he solemnly accepted his fate. He’d even been contrite afterwards and apologized profusely, wanting nothing more than comfort and forgiveness.

So they’d kept the paddle, hanging it up on the wall as a reminder to Bertie from his terrifying aunt. Wooster hated the thing, glaring at it’s unsightly presence whenever he noticed it, even going so far as to hide it on one occasion. Unfortunately Jeeves discovered it and promptly applied said paddle to spoilt backside, resolving the issue immediately.

But it nagged at him, this feeling of guilt that’s sat heavily in his gut. Was he right in paddling his young employer? It’d been a long time since he’d needed to and while Bertram hadn’t done anything particularly awful to warrant it, the butler felt the need to make a strong point.

Shaking his head, the tired man realized it would be a long week. If Bertram planned on being this stubborn throughout the doctor’s and aunt agatha’s ordered seven days of rest, he was sure his hand would ache by the end. Setting the last bowl on the serving tray, Jeeves made his way to the bedroom, finding to his delight a pajama clad Bertram, laying in bed with his arms crossed in a pout. Jeeves set the tray down beside the bed, picking up the small bottle of medicine and a spoon. If there was one thing Bertram Willberforce Wooster hated more than anything, it was yucky medicine.

“If you think I’m about to swallow a spoonful of bally awful medicine, you’re mad,” the lanky man protested.

Mentally rolling his eyes, Jeeves gave Bertie a stern look and continued to pour out a hearty dose of thick dark liquid. Setting the bottle down, the valet leaned forward, expecting Bertram to take the medicine. The pouting man simply turned his nose up at it, scowling like his life depended on it. “I’m not taking it, and that’s final.” When Jeeves only pushed the spoon forward, towards the man’s mouth, Wooster fully lost his temper and threw his arms up, smacking the spoon out of his hands.

A look of horror now crossed Bertie’s face as he realized what he’d done. “Now listen, I didn’t intend to-”

“You never do, Sir” Jeeves interrupted, sitting down on the edge of the bed and swiftly hauling the smaller man up and over his lap. His hand came down hard and fast, peppering smacks over every inch of the poor man’s already scalding backside. Frantically trying to move out of the way, Bertie hollered and cried in pain as the unmerciful hand came down with purpose. 

“I’ll take my medicine, I’m sorry!” Bertie pushed against the butler’s side but found he was well and truly stuck. Curse this horrid day, what damned awful luck!

Slowing to a halt, Jeeves patted the man’s back and lifted him up to sit on his lap. Bertram winced as his backside came into contact with the hard thigh, squirming a bit in discomfort. Reaching over to the serving tray, Jeeves picked up the medicine bottle and another spoon, filling it once more with the thick awful liquid. Grimacing to himself, Bertie reluctantly opened his mouth as Jeeves fed him the terrible medicine. His face immediately contorted into one of disgust but he feared what would happen if he spit it out, so hesitantly swallowed.

“There’s a good lad,” Jeeves praised. Bertram’s cheeks flushed at hearing such a compliment but he kept his head down and sniveled as the tears still ran down his face. The tall butler then moved him to lie in his bed, tucking him in and fluffing his pillow. 

“Jeeves,” he inquired.

The valet raised his eyebrows to show he was listening.

“Can’t I have something a little more hearty than soup?” At receiving the dark look that bode misfortune was soon afoot, Bertie sunk further into his bed, a sheepish look on his tear stained face. “This will do just fine, thank you.”

“I will be attending to the flat, should you need anything Sir.” He gave a small nod and saw himself out, leaving Bertram to his soup.

A few minutes passed of Wooster simply staring up at the ceiling, wondering how in god's name he ended up in such a frightful mess, before he turned his attention to the now lukewarm soup. Bertram sat up in his bed, wishing he could stretch his legs or at least sit in his lounge and read a good book, but that hound dog of a butler was as attentive as a nanny. God forbid he allow the young Wooster man to have any fun.

Taking a sip of the lackluster soup, Bertie’s face scrunched up in disgust. It was then that he realized the medicine he so rudely smacked out of Jeeves hand must have landed in his soup, and it was now a concoction of dark broth and thick black goop! Gagging a bit, Bertram pushed his tray away, rolling over on his side in defeat. Just his luck.

His eyes wandered over to the door that his valet had left open, a clear view of his living room and the butler cleaning it. Then his eyes shot over to the evil paddle lying idly on his dresser and a cold chill ran down his spine. He had to get out before that dreadful man decided he needed more correction! 

Mustering up as much courage as he could, Bertie slipped out of bed, creeping his way over to the window once more. Looking over his shoulder, he quietly pushed open the frame, taking a much needed lungful of fresh air. He looked around at his surrounding landscape, wondering if he might be able to scale the outer wall. It was quite a ways up but maybe if he got to another window he might be able to ask for assistance and go through another flat to get to the elevator.

Hearing the distinct sounds of footsteps heading for his room, Wooster lunged back to his bed, crawling in just in time as Jeeves walked in. The man looked sharply at the open window, swiftly walking over and closing it before turning his attention to the rebellious young man currently cowering in his bedsheets.

“I must remind you, Sir, of the dangers one poses when currently under the weather and exposed to the outside elements. Unless further reminders are needed?” He smoothly lifted his gaze to the paddle lying on the dresser, returning to look at the young man with his mouth hanging open.

Shaking his head, Bertie only managed a small squeak of denial, feeling smaller and smaller under this giant of a man’s disapproving stare. He’d never fully noticed just how large Jeeves was until the man had him tucked tightly against his hip, delivering a most undeserved punishment. 

“I see your appetite has not yet returned?” Jeeves glanced at the still full bowl of soup and Bertram once again shook his head. Wherever his words had gone, they’d taken a quick vacation and dragged his confidence along for the trip. “Very good, Sir.” The tall man picked up the tray, wiping down the nightstand before leaving the room.

Sighing heavily, Wooster threw his head back and groaned. Whatever was he to do with his nanny-butler paying such close attention to his every move? Well, at least he could go out tomorrow and see all his old chaps, even have a nice hearty meal. Resigning himself to his fate, Bertie decided to take a nap to pass the time. 

He was having the most splendid dream, one of roast duck and chopped potatoes, when a soothing voice dragged him out from his slumber. “What’s what now?” He inquired, blinking drowsily up at the suit-clad man.

“Your supper, Sir.”

Excitement rushing through him, Bertram sat up straight and allowed the butler to set the tray across his lap. Among the hot food, he noticed that dreadful bottle of what might as well be poison sitting inconspicuously among his supper. When he picked up his fork, Jeeves cleared his throat politely.

“I’m afraid, Sir, you must consume the medicine before supper is to be had.” 

“But-“ He sputtered miserably. “But Jeeves.” He grimaced at hearing himself whine, but remembered the smacking he’d received only hours before and instead slumped in defeat. 

Jeeves only smiled at him empathetically, pouring out a good dose into a spoon. Looking up at it, Bertie went to protest when he found the spoon quickly shoved into his mouth and struggled not to spit it out. He made a face but swallowed, all the while shooting daggers at his traitor of a valet. Jeeves handed him a tall glass of water which he took thankfully and glugged down to rid his mouth of the taste. 

“Jeeves,” He exclaimed as he wiped at his mouth. “I’ve rested enough, I feel a light stroll around the old block is in order.”

Giving him a wary look, the butler began setting out a fresh set of pajamas. “I’m afraid I can’t advise it, Sir.”

“Well why the hell not?”

Turning to the frustrated man with his hands clasped behind his back, Jeeves silently observed him before answering. “Perhaps a book would lift your spirits?”

Rolling his eyes, Bertie crossed his arms again but decided against pushing the issue further. With that dreaded paddle only a few steps away from the blighter, he had to be careful what he said. “Yes, fine.” 

He made good work on his supper, eating almost the whole plate with how starved he felt. Jeeves brought him some Shakespeare to read, along with the newspaper from that morning and a cup of hot tea. 

The evening wasn’t so bad, if Bertie were being perfectly honest with himself. But then he just kept reminding himself that tomorrow was a fresh new day and he was a free man to go outside as he pleased.

So he settled in for the night, changed into his fresh pajamas, and followed his normal nighttime routine. Except there was no piano playing or pub-going, or even a friendly visitor to lift his spirits. “Good night, Jeeves!” He announced happily, sinking into his bed.

Jeeves smiled kindly at him, closing the blinds and walking over to the doorway. “Good night, Sir.” He shut the door on his way out, glad that the eccentric young man seemed to have calmed down. Tomorrow was unfortunately a brand new day and only the lord himself knew what it would hold.

Regardless, Jeeves couldn’t help but worry as he was sure he heard the sound of a window being opened, but put it out of his head. Surely Bertram knew better, didn’t he?


	2. We’re all quarantined so Bertie is too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie is a man of his word, and by golly if he says he’s going out then he’s going out! Jeeves on the other hand, feels differently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew boy this chapter was a beast to write. Again with the not sleeping so I’m up to my usual shenanigans, writing fanfic for you guys lol. Hope you guys like it, my brain is a little mushy right now so please tell me if there’s any errors or mistakes. Stay inside and stay healthy everyone!

Wooster groaned, his mouth opening in a large yawn as he took in a deep breath. Pulling himself to an upright position, he couldn’t help but notice just how rummy awful his throat felt. If he didn’t know any better, young Bertram would have thought he’d spent the night away in a pub with his chums. But then as far as he knew, his night had consisted of a worn old book from the Wooster library, and the ever looming presence of a certain butler-turned-nanny.

Regardless, his throat certainly thought otherwise. His head was beginning to join in the battle against him as it throbbed against his skull. Blinking the sleep away, Bertie turned to face the window, throwing his feet over the side of the bed. It was only then that he noticed the growing puddle of water on the carpet and realized the window was thrown wide open.

In a panicked rush to close said window, he certainly didn’t expect his limbs to fail him. But fail him, they did. As he now lay sprawled out, face down on the floor, the crumpled man let out a groan of distress. But as the Wooster spirit prevails, he carried on.

Bertram wobbled onto stiff legs, crossing the room with the help of his sturdy furniture. Rain began to pelt him as he got close, a vicious rainstorm forcing itself in. Once at the window, Bertie slammed the frame shut with a sense of finality, a small victory he’d won.

“Good morning, Sir.”

Spinning on his heel, the slender man clutched at his heart as it beat out of his chest. “Good heavens Jeeves!” What should have been a bold explanation was instead a raspy, painful jumble of words that scratched his throat horribly. It truly felt as though he hadn’t had a drop of water in weeks!

Jeeves in turn moved swiftly to the bedside, setting down the morning tray. When he turned now to assist the sick man, Bertie stepped back defensively. “What-“ he coughed into his elbow, trying in vain to resume the facade of perfect health. “What are you doing?”

“I assumed, Sir, that you might require assistance.”

“Nonsense.” The man cleared his throat, standing up straight. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Very good, Sir.” The butler folded back the sheets so he might return to his bed. When Bertie made no move to do so, the valet set out to find an appropriate change of clothes. While Jeeves was busy collecting the garments, he noticed the stubborn young man walking stiffly to his bed from the corner of his eye. Thankfully when he returned with an armful of fresh pygamas, he found Bertram cozily tucked in, sitting up straight and alert to his movements. “Feeling a bit under the weather today?”

Bertie shook his head fervently, careful not to irritate his throat by speaking and therefore giving up the ruse. What he wouldn’t do for a quick stroll outside! Jeeves acknowledged the lie absently, picking up the medicine bottle he’d left on the tray. He tactfully untwisted the cap, wasting no time in pouring out a hearty dose into a silver soup spoon. “Jeeves,” Bertie rasped. He tried to clear his throat, coughing involuntarily as his airway felt sore and blocked. “I don’t need it.”

The valet raised his thick eyebrows in response, displaying a look others might describe as scepticism. “It is my understanding, Sir, that in order to combat a cold, one must first take their medicine.”

“I have,” he lied. “Combatted the cold I mean.” Another cough broke through as he tried desperately to clear his aching throat. “I’m healthy as a horse.”

“Regardless,” Jeeves continued. “It is in your best interest to follow the doctor’s orders.” He moved the spoon forward, expecting the young man to mouth but found no such compliance. 

Bertie only frowned at him, glaring daggers at the offending spoon. Crossing his arms, the sick man turned his head in defiance.

The valet sighed softly, pulling the spoon back and deciding on a more commanding tactic. “Perhaps a different sort of medicine is required?”

Opening his mouth in shock, Bertram gaped at him like a fish out of water. “That’s not fair!”

“Often Sir, one may find life to be unfair.”

“Oh alright,” he grumbled. “But I’m going out today. Bertie coughed into his fist, trying in vain to regain his composure. “Mark my words!”

“Indeed Sir.” Once Bertram’s cough had subsided, the valet moved the spoon forward once more. The scowling man opened his mouth reluctantly, gagging when the foul liquid slid down his throat. Jeeves hid a smile at the face Bertie made, like he’d just sucked on a particularly sour lemon.

Satisfied that the sickly man had taken his medicine as prescribed, he handed him a glass of water and set out to tidy the room. The butler noticed however that the usually bright and energetic man was instead picking at his food sadly, taking only a few bites before pushing it away. “I say,” Bertie called out. “I think I’d like something else.”

“Of course Sir. Was there something in particular you had in mind?” 

“Oh I don’t know,” his sulking employer mumbled with some effort. He threw his hand up haphazardly, gesturing to nothing in particular. “Make whatsit or whatever.” Bertie coughed hard now and it wracked his whole body with the force of it. “Something hot,” he managed.

“Very good Sir.” Jeeves picked up the tray, somewhat worried about his young gentleman as he made his way to the kitchen. He went through a recipe box, thinking both of what to cook and what to do. Now that Bertie was truly was truly ill, keeping him inside for the duration of a week would prove difficult. Keeping him in bed, however, may prove impossible. He could only threaten the paddle so many times before he’d have to actually go through with it and god knew he hated doing so.

He’d hoped that yesterday’s session would’ve kept Bertram in line but you never could tell with eccentric youth such as him. He’d have to be stern with the man, fair but gentle. 

Selecting a recipe and making up his mind, Jeeves set out to prepare a proper hot meal, enjoying the process as he always did. Cooking was a very soothing endeavor for him, and any distraction that took his mind off the trying young man was kindly welcome with open arms.

Once the aromatic dish was ready, he prepared the tray, setting out the dishes and brewing a fresh pot. The valet tactfully balanced the tray on one hand, carrying the daily morning newspaper in the othe and transported them both to his patient’s bedroom. Noticing however that the bedchamber appeared to be absent of one Mr. Bertram Wooster, Jeeves set the items down on the nearby nightstand and walked to the bathroom. He knocked gently on the door but upon receiving no reply, pushed it open to find the room empty. 

Looking back around the room, the now disgruntled butler found the wardrobe left ajar and pyjamas utterly untouched. Taking a moment to silently roll his eyes in spirit and heave a great sigh, Jeeves set out to collect his terribly unruly boy. 

It was a quick and pleasant stroll down to the gentleman’s club, though he didn’t stop to smell the roses as he usually did. When he arrived at the building, he greeted the staff warmly and inquired politely about his employer. The man on duty informed him promptly of the rebel’s whereabouts and Jeeves set off to fetch his wayward charge, a purpose in his step.

Bertie was his responsibility now, and not one he took lightly. Arriving in the room where countless wealthy young men were dancing ridiculously and consuming alcohol as though their lives depended on it, Jeeves stood to the side. Exuding a presence of authority and discipline, he waited patiently for Bertram to finish his turn at the dartboard before making himself known. When he was spotted, the look on Wooster’s face could only be described as one of a man with regret in his heart.

The poor boy looked as though he’d just seen a ghost, his skin was drained of all color. Though Jeeves couldn’t be sure if his pale complexion stemmed from fear of his looming punishment or from the nasty virus currently taking up residence in his thin body. “Jeeves,” He sputtered. “What in the heavens are you doing here?”

Before Jeeves could answer, he was met with delighted hello’s and other assorted greetings by the men in Bertie’s company. “It has come to my attention, Sir, that your illness may best be treated in the confines of your own dwelling.”

“Ay, Bertie, you didn’t say you were sick!” One of the men shouted from the round table.

“Bertie’s sick?” A Mister Gussie Finknottle chimed in. “I don’t want to catch it!”

“He’s right, home with you if you’ve got a cold!” A rather rotund man declared.

Wooster slumped his shoulders, realizing his friends didn’t want him to stay. “I am not!” He argued, erupting into a coughing fit.

“Out! Go home, Bertie!”

Most of the friends began voicing their protests, insisting he go home so they wouldn’t catch his sickness . “It’s not that we don’t want you here,” Gussie explained. “But you’ve got a cold! You can come back when you’re feeling better, alright?” He smiled sheepishly at his friend but Bertie only sulked in response.

Laying a gentle hand on the sickly man’s shoulder, Jeeves guided him out of the room and through the club until they arrived outside. The moment they reached the sidewalk, Bertie jerked his shoulder away from his butler. “That was a rotten trick!” He roared.

“My apologies, Sir.” Jeeves answered calmly.

“Your apologies?” Bertie shot back. He began coughing again, this time harder than before. “If you think I’m going home,” the sick man paused to clear his throat. “You are sorely mistaken, you are!” He straightened his back, fixing his suit jacket with a tug. “Right, I’m going for a stroll, and there is nothing you can do!”

“Just as you say, Sir,” Jeeves intoned. It almost shook Wooster’s confidence, the way his butler so cooly answered. But Bertram wouldn’t be swayed. If he wanted to go out then he damn well would!

“Right,” he nodded, losing a bit of steam.

“Will you be dining in tonight, Sir?”

“I-I don’t know,” Bertie muttered, a tad surprised. “What’s it matter, I’ll be home when I dashed well feel like it.” There, he would lay down the law whether his valet liked it or not.

“I only inquire, Sir, so I might know if I need to make up a fresh batch of salve.”

Upon hearing this, realization set in and Bertram lost all the wind in his sails. He visibly deflated as he stared at the tall man dumbly. There was no doubt what his butler was implying, and despite his best efforts to appear confident, he just couldn’t puff himself back up.

“I-I… Well, perhaps I do come back with you,” he tried.

“A wise choice, Sir.”

“Might we have a quiet afternoon, no hard feelings?”

Thinking for a moment, Jeeves countered, “I should certainly hope so, Sir. That is, after we attend to your most recent offense.”

“My-my offense? But I’ve done nothing wrong!” Bertie all but stamped his foot in frustration.

“Perhaps, Sir, we should continue our discussion indoors?”

Bertram frowned at him, knowing he was on the losing side of the argument. “Dash it,” he exclaimed loudly. Then, looking up at his butler and seeing no mercy to be had, he gave in. “Alright.”

Jeeves nodded his head in approval, walking behind the young man as they made their way home. It wasn’t nearly as pleasant of a walk this time around as Bertie kept trying to stop and pet every dog he saw and the exasperated valet had to remind him of their destination each time. 

When they finally reached the flat, Jeeves stopped to take off his coat while Bertie stood in the living room with folded arms, glaring a hole in the carpet. “Lets get on with it then,” he insisted grumpily.

“Very good, Sir.” Jeeves moved to stand in front of him, exuding an air of authority and confidence.

There was a long stretch of silence before Bertie began coughing again, pounding a fist against his chest to assist his lungs. “Right,” he rasped. “I have every right to go out if I wish.”

“I would argue, Sir, that your doctor has advised otherwise.”

“Well nobody asked him, did they?”

“I’m afraid I did. I may also bring to attention that the Lady Gregson did leave explicit instruction-“

“I don’t care what that old bat has explicitly instructed!” Bertie threw his arms up in frustration. “I’m a grown man for heaven's sake, if I say I want to-“ doubling over from a sudden coughing fit, he stopped mid sentence to recover.

Rolling up his sleeves slowly, Jeeves gave a disapproving look. “I’m afraid I must end our discussion here, Sir, as it is clear to me that further argument will only aggravate your current condition.” 

Bertie looked up in horror as he realized he’d lost the chance to persuade his butler out of punishing him. “Now listen here, let’s not be too hasty,” he implored, walking backwards.

The resolute man approached slowly, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he was prepared for the coming event. “Oh no, Sir, I don’t intend to be hasty at all.” Bertram turned in an attempt to dart away, his stomach doing a flip when he felt the man’s hand clamp around his bicep. The large valet quickly dragged him back into the living room, using the momentum to keep his charge from running.

“No, Jeeves!” Bertie tried to dig his heels into the carpet but the ruddy man was too strong to fight. “Please,” he wailed, his voice laced with panic. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

The butler sat down on the settee, holding the uncooperative man to stand between his knees. “It is that precise logic that has delivered you here.” He then drew Bertie down to lie across his left thigh, making quick work of lowering his suspenders and pulling down his trousers.

“Jeeves,” Wooster whined. He pushed against the man’s thigh, kicking his legs furiously like an errant child. To his dismay, Bertie found himself pinned perfectly in place so that no amount of struggling could aid in his escape. “Please don’t,” he begged. “Don’t use the paddle!”

Jeeves rested a warm hand across the lanky man’s posterior, his voice calm and clear. “Not to worry, Sir. I’ve taken into consideration your current state and sufficed that my hand will do just fine.”

“No!” He argued, only to be cut off by the sound and pain of the first slap landing on his backside. Bertie gasped sharply, slamming his feet against the carpet in protest as the hand came down over and over relentlessly. “It’s not fair!”

Woefully, he found that no amount of reasoning would deter his deranged butler and his struggles proved fruitless. The sick man tried grabbing onto the edge of the settee and pulling his body forward, only to find himself firmly brought back into place by his hips.

Regardless, he was a Wooster man and the Woosters don’t give up! When he tried to wriggle himself free, moving his body like a worm on cement, Jeeves only smacked at his thighs, quelling any remaining thoughts of wormliness. 

“Jeeves!” His voice cracked with desperation, thickly coated with the cold invading his aching body. “That’s quite enough!” Bertie stamped his foot against the carpet, throwing his hands back to cover his sensitive backside.

The larger man stilled his hand, unsurprised by his employer’s small tantrum. “I’m afraid that decision is under my authority.” He really didn’t plan on continuing much longer, seeing as how the flustered man had taken ill. But if he proceeded to fight and throw a fit, Jeeves would have no choice but to carry on as it were until the message was received.

The butler gathered Bertie’s wrists in one hand, pinning them to the small of his back with ease. Then, raising his hand once more, brought it down in a flurry of smacks aimed pointedly at the man’s sit spots. Wooster howled in pain, his back tensing with the struggle of trying to escape his prescribed torture.

It took longer than Jeeves would have hoped, but after a few more rounds of switching tactfully between sit spots and center, Bertie stopped his struggles. “Not- Not fair,” he whined. A sudden cough jolted the man’s body, to which Jeeves stopped immediately. Doing his best to help the sickly man, he clapped his hand across the center of Bertram’s back, aiding in the matter of clearing his lungs. 

“I believe that should be enough to help the lesson stick for now.” 

What was intended to be soothing was instead received as mocking and Bertie stiffened in defense. Feeling Jeeves relax his hold and instead begin rubbing his back soothingly, the intent young man took the opportunity to flee. He tried to break away, only to find himself hoisted up and around to sit on one sturdy thigh. “Unhand me,” Bertram rasped, wiping at his eyes.

Jeeves raised his eyebrows but tried to sooth the distraught young man by pulling him in for a much needed hug. When the agitated man only twisted away, the valet steadied his hold and kept him firmly in place. “Not just yet, Bertram.” At hearing his whole first name, Bertie froze and stopped his squirming. “I would like to hear, in your own words, what you have learned.”

Sniffling sadly, Wooster pouted with the force of a thousand kicked puppies. He held his gaze steady on the floor, too embarrassed and angry to look his man in the eyes. He wanted to shout back that Jeeves was being a tyrant, not recite his repentance like a chastised school boy. A quick smack landed on his backside, pulling Bertie rather abruptly out of his brooding. “Ouch!”

“If I were in your position, I would make quick work of showing my remorse.” He knew it was a warning, knew that he should apologize and tell Jeeves what he knew he wanted to hear. But a stubborn cloud of rebellion grew ever larger in his tight chest and all he could manage was a furious scowl.

He made one last break for freedom, finding himself instead flipped over as easily as one might toss an omelette. “No!” Bertie flailed his bony limbs, the frustration growing so hot that tears began welling up in his eyes. He tried with all his might to push against Jeeves’ side but it felt as if all the energy in his body had been mysteriously drained. The arm across his back was heavy and held him firmly in place despite his most meaningful intentions.

“As the lesson is clearly escaping your understanding, allow me to explain.” The valet raised his hand, bringing it down with as much force as he thought Bertram could handle. “You are to stay inside for the duration of your illness until I deem you fit for outside activity.” 

The man across his lap hollered in pain, twisting this way and that so he might wiggle himself free. “No, it’s not fair, I haven’t done anything!” Jeeves waited patiently for the tantrum to pass, noting to himself how small the man felt across his knee. When Bertie was his normal high spirited self, not even the world could stand in his way. But the moment he had him in place for a scolding, it was as if his young gentleman threw away all notions of civilized behavior and instead adopted the mannerisms of a boy in primary school.

“You have gone directly against the orders of everyone around you.” He raised his hand again, gathering the mental fortitude needed to continue walloping the equivalent of a crying brat. It pained him to do so, but do so he must, as he rained down smacks to the underwear-clad backside across his knee. Wooster bounced and wriggled across his lap, kicking his legs frantically as though it might help him escape. “Now,” Jeeves stopped for a moment so he could rub soothing circles across his back. “Have you anything to say for yourself?” 

The valet waited for an answer, hoping for Bertie’s own sake that some semblance of self preservation might take hold. A full minute passed before he noticed Bertram’s hands clench into fists, his shoulders rising and ankles crossing. So, his headstrong young charge chose to guard his belief that the punishment was unwarranted. 

“Very well,” the butler replied almost under his breath. In one swift move Jeeves grabbed onto the waistband of Bertie’s undergarments and yanked them down to expose his now rosy pink skin. Bertram of course was mortified at the thought of being bared and threw his hands back to preserve his modesty.

“Jeeves!” He shouted indignantly. While one hand was blocked off by the boulder of a man that was Reginald Jeeves, the other advanced in getting a hold of the thin white cotton now around his lower thighs. Bertie twisted his upper half to better reach back, trying desperately to pull them back up. “No, you can’t!” he rather demanded.

“Bertram Wilberforce Wooster.” The butler’s voice was practically booming now, startling the frightened man into listening. “You do not decide the matters of your spanking, do I make myself clear?”

Bertie blushed to his ears at hearing his man so plainly state his predicament but held onto his underpants nonetheless. “But Jeeves!” his voice reached a new octave, cracking with the impact of his shattered dignity. “I’m not a babe to be smacked.” Even to him the whine in his tone was painfully obvious and he cringed inwardly.

“When you behave like a babe in need of a smacking, Bertram, I will treat you as such.” He then took Bertie’s hand in his own, holding it captive against his side as he pulled the underpants down to join his trousers. “Now, if you would be so kind as to remind me of the reason you are here.” 

The sick man trembled slightly, both from being bared and from his growing temperature. “Please,” Bertie begged. When all he got was a seering smack to his hindquarters in response, he yelped in surprise as his legs twitched anxiously. Jeeves knew it wasn’t long before his young escapee gave in, as this tactic had a nearly guaranteed success rate. 

Of course he really hadn’t planned on having to go quite so far as to bare him for the spanking, but if it meant keeping him safe while he recovered then so be it. Though in all honesty, the butler had really expected just the reminder of being over his knee and a few choice smacks to do the trick.

Jeeves pulled the sad man forward a bit so his upper half was situated more comfortably across the settee, the position also giving him easier access to his sit spots. Raising his hand to hopefully make his point and finish the punishment, the valet delivered a series of rapid-fire smacks directly to Bertie’s most sensitive skin. The poor man let out a shriek that would put banshees to shame, lowering his head as he cried. “I’m sorry!”

Finally, the butler breathed a sigh of relief, resting his hand against Bertie’s hot thigh. “What are you sorry for Bertram?”

“For- for going outsideinnsteadufstayeenunside.”

“I’m afraid I can’t hear you when you bury your head in the cushions.”

Bertie lifted his head, taking a deep breath and trying his best to level his breathing. “I said I’m sorry.”

“Yes, I did hear the first half. The reasoning, however, escaped me.”

“I went down to the- the club, and fought you when you tried to punish me.”

“Do you by chance remember why that is wrong?”

“Oh, Jeeves,” he whined. The butler lifted his hand, causing Bertie to clench all over and rush to explain. “You instructed me to stay indoors and I didn’t!”

“Very good, and do you recall why fighting your punishment is regrettable?”

The sick man’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Because it’ll earn me more?”

“Precisely. You are however, always permitted to object if you believe my decision to be unfair.”

“I'm aware,” he grumbled.

“But you must do so in a calm and dignified manner. Tell me, do you believe your behavior was calm and dignified?”

Taking into account the way he’d carried on at having his underwear removed, or when being dragged to the couch, Bertie bit his lip and shook his head.

“Then you will find it justified in my decision that you have earned extra for defiance.”

Bertram felt a lump in his throat at the prospect of earning more. His body felt positively spent, and his backside burned something fierce. “Oh no,” he cried, tears beginning to spill down his cheeks again. His legs bent at the knees, subconsciously protecting his posterior as he buried his head in his elbow. 

“Considering your current state, however, I’ve decided that you may choose when you receive these extra smacks.” Moreso, Jeeves didn’t particularly enjoy the prospect of putting further strain on a sick man.

“Never,” Bertie mumbled, though it was broken up by the sniffles and tears currently streaming down his face. 

“If you would like the matter over with now, you will receive 20 with my hand. If you choose to delay the event, you will receive 10 with the paddle before bed.” 

A fresh sob broke through and Bertie cried in earnest, his shoulders arching as he unconsciously made himself small. It truly broke Jeeves’ heart to see his dear boy so fully collapsed and sorrowful but then he reminded himself of the reason why. He was tasked with keeping the young gentleman in line, and if he was to keep him alive when the man’s own survival instincts failed him, then he’d have to carry through. 

Bertie was squeezing the hand tucked against his side as he answered, “Later. I w-want it later.”

That was all the confirmation Jeeves needed to end the punishment right then and there. He pulled up the man’s underpants, not bothering with the trousers as he lifted Bertie up to sit on his thigh. The tear-streaked face that greeted him could have belonged to a weeping child with how miserable he looked. Two red rimmed eyes peered up at him hopefully, unsure if he was forgiven. The larger man pulled him close and Bertie wrapped his arms around him, burying his face immediately into his shoulder.

Jeeves would have to get the shirt laundered but at the moment he couldn’t seem to care about the snot and tears soaking through the fabric. All he could really focus on was how glad he felt that Bertram didn’t hate him for being harsh. He knew the young man needed this, needed the affection just as much as he needed the firm hand. 

He rubbed one warm hand up and down Bertie’s back, not stopping until he felt the man’s tears subside. “You are forgiven and the matter shall be forgotten.”

“Thank you Jeeves,” Bertie answered tiredly. 

“Aside from the 10 you have earned tonight of course.” The butler felt Bertram’s shoulders slump, a guttural groan slipping out of his throat. Bertie pulled back, wiping at his face with his sleeves.

“I think I’d like to rest my head for a bit.”

“Very good, Sir.” Jeeves helped the man to his feet, keeping a steady hand on his leg for balance as the sick man pulled up his trousers. They walked back to the bedroom where the valet quickly gathered a fresh set of pyjamas, setting them down on the bed so he might change for a nap. “Shall I bring a cup of tea, Sir?”

Bertie flopped down onto the bed, fighting back a cough as he curled up into a cocoon of blankets. “Actually Jeeves.” Bertram cleared his throat, peering up at the man from the entrance to his blanket burrito. “It’s positively freezing in here. Can you get some blankets from the cupboard?”

Jeeves smiled fondly at him, nodding his head. “Very good, Sir.”


	3. An Unexpected Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain newt-fancying young man decides to pay his friend a visit and runs into a rather shocking surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long, I didn't expect to have such a hectic chain of events. I hope you all like it, I know it's a bit shorter than I normally write them but I've recently found I tend to write more this way. I'm hoping to update more of my stories soon, please let me know what you all think! (Thank you to Calactus for beta reading, your notes were hilarious.)

Even knowing how important it was for Bertie to rest, Jeeves had to admit he missed the general calamity of sounds that the young man produced in the evenings. The atrocious songs he played on the piano, the chatter of gentleman who visited to smoke a cigar and lay back as it were with their favorite pal. It wasn’t as though he wanted Bertram to strain himself entertaining guests or try playing the piano with a sore throat but the young man hadn’t so much as left his room the past two days. The valet was beginning to worry that he may have been overly harsh in demanding his patient stay indoors and rest but he’d done what needed to be done, of that he was sure.

Jeeves entered the bedroom holding a tray of hot soup and tea, surprised to find his young gentleman no longer occupied the space. He walked around to the other side of the bed, following the trail of discarded blankets to discover a shivering mass lying flat against the carpeted floor. The valet set the tray down on the nightstand, crouching down beside him and clearing his throat politely. “May I inquire, Sir, as to how you’ve found yourself upon the bedroom floor?” 

Bertie groaned, a shiver running across his skin. “Too hot.”

“I see. Would you care for a refreshing bath?”

He grumbled lowly, turning his head away. “Leave me, Jeeves. I’m too far gone.”

“Just as you say, Sir.” Jeeves stood up, reaching for the discarded blankets and draped them across the lanky form. He then went to the bathroom, running a lukewarm bath for his sickly employer. While the tub filled, Jeeves set out on finding a fresh set of clothes; carefully stepping over the man so he didn’t accidentally crush any fingers. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt the patient he was caring for. “If you could find it within yourself to stand up,” Jeeves asked the motionless blob, “It would be most helpful.”

He knelt down now, carefully placing his hands under the man so he could flip him. Bertie didn’t resist, only moaning pathetically as he was turned over, moving his hands to cover his sensitive eyes from the light of the bedroom. Bertram offered no compliance however so Jeeves found himself scooping up the stubborn man, lifting him as you would a bride or small child and carrying him to the awaiting bath. 

The valet set him down beside the toilet, guiding him gently to sit on the lid. He leaned over to unbutton the man’s nightshirt, ignoring the protests. “Don’t want a bath,” Bertie grumbled, lifting his arms to barely resist and stop the hands from undressing him. Jeeves easily brushed them away, slipping the man’s arms out of the sleeves and lifting him to stand on his feet.

The valet slipped the pyjamas down his legs, leading him to the bathtub.

“I don’t want to,” he whined, though his statement was very much undermined by his own nakedness.

“I will not fight with you on this Bertram,” he warned, receiving a scowl. He put his hands on the man’s shoulders again, helping him into the tub.

Bertie sat in the lukewarm water, feeling quite miserable. “It’s too hot.” He reached for the faucet, meaning to run some cold water when Jeeves smacked his hand away. “I say, Jeeves!” He looked at his man in disbelief, voice gravelly with the cold. “What the devil was that for?”

“You will take your bath as it is, Bertram. Cold water will not help your fever.”

“Dash my fever Jeeves, I’m roasting! If I want cold water, why then-” he stopped at meeting his valet’s eyes, seeing the impending outcome they promised should he continue. “Fine.” Bertie crossed his arms, leaning back against the bathtub in defeat.

“Very good Sir. Will you require any assistance?”

“What with bathing? I’m hardly a child Jeeves,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. Being chained to the walls of his apartment had really put him off but he was careful not to overstep too far. At least the fear of being tossed over a certain valet’s knee was enough to keep him somewhat subdued, though it couldn’t last forever.

“Just as you say.” Jeeves gave him a warning look before leaving him to his business, knowing Bertie was too smart to try again with the water temperature.

The bath wasn’t so bad, if he were being perfectly honest with himself. It was certainly manageable, though he had the company of his favorite rubber ducky to thank for that. When he’d finished washing and left the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, Bertram was a bit taken aback to find a clean pile of regular clothes sitting atop his freshly made bed. Was Jeeves planning an outing, he wondered? Bertie excitedly dried himself off, quickly dressing and combing his unfortunate bedhead that stuck up at an angle on the side. They weren’t exactly outdoor clothes, he realised sadly, but rather lounging about sort of clothes, the kind you might wear to a dinner party. Regardless, regular clothes felt welcome either way, he’d long grown tired of only wearing pyjamas day and night. “I say, Jeeves?” he stepped out of his bedroom into the main area, a bit of life back in his step.

Upon reaching the valet however, he stopped a moment to take in that they weren’t alone. In fact his dear friend the newt lover sat perched eagerly on the end of their settee, a hopeful grin on his face. “A Mister Fink-Nottle to see you sir.”

“Hello Bertie!” the man stood up, holding a cage of sorts in his clammy hands.

“Gussie old pal,” he cleared his throat, suddenly feeling far too hot. “What in the dickens are you doing here?” He got a side eye from Jeeves but it happened so fast he barely even noticed and paid it no mind.

“Well I thought I might cheer you up. Look, I even brought you a little friend!” He held up the cage so Bertie could see the slimy little creature, a stupid smile stretched across his excited face. “No fun being sick and all. I’ve even brought a book.”

“That’s all good and fine Gussie, but aren’t you worried you might catch it? What I’ve got and all.”

“Oh pish posh, everyone needs a friend when they’re down.” It did make Bertram feel a little better knowing his pal didn’t mind risking his health to see him but did he really have to bring a newt of all things? Why not a dog or a cat even? At least those blasted little creatures knew how to mind their own business.

“Right well uh, let’s have a look then.” He sat down opposite Gussie and let the man tell him all about the newest breed of newts he’d found, these ones being special of course because of one black dot atop their backs. Because every slimy little beast is unique as he puts it, but these ones, oh these ones are special. Jeeves eventually brought out a tray of finger sandwiches and tea, thank god, and they enjoyed the light meal. Once they were sufficiently stuffed, Gussie read from his book A Great Compendium of Reptiles and Amphibians, Both Small and Large. Time itself seemed to pause once his friend began reading, like the universe was screaming ‘Please, make it stop.’ Or maybe it was just him who felt like taking the thing and tossing it right out the window.

“I say Bertie, you look like a ghost.” Gussie closed the book, placing it beside him. “Are you feeling alright?”

Bertram gave a low guttural groan, staring up at the ceiling in agony. “To be perfectly frank-” he looked at the man with annoyance but noticed the valet standing off to the side, his eyes clearly warning him not to say what he intended. “Never mind it.”

“If you say so. Oh! Would you like to have a peek at Esmerelda?”

“Why not, have you got a picture?” 

“Oh no, even better! I caught her just last Thursday and gave her a cage all to herself.”

Bertie’s mind swam wildly for a few moments before realisation struck that Esmerelda wasn’t some poor girl Gus had chained up but rather the four-legged beady eyed little thing he’d brought along with him. “Good heavens. You had me going there for a moment, I must say.”

Gussie looked at him in confusion, not catching on to the mixup. “I’m not sure I understand. But here, she’s quite the beauty, you ought to see for yourself.” He lifted up the cage, his smile disappearing after a moment. “Bertie old friend, you’re not going to believe this.”

Bertram eyed him warily, hoping it wasn’t what he thought. “Are you telling me-” he stood up now, looking around him. “That you’ve let some slimy little whatsit devil loose in my flat?”

“She’s not a devil!” Gussie got down on his hands and knees, searching under the furniture for his lost friend. “Really, she’s very pretty and a great listener. You’ll like her once you meet her, I swear!”

“I don’t care if she’s the bloody queen of England!” Bertie picked up a pillow, throwing it at his friend when he found the space behind it empty. Gussie blocked the pillow with his arm, easily deflecting the soft weapon. “You lost the damned thing in my flat!” At this he broke into a coughing fit, trying to at least direct his head into his elbow so as not to get his pal sick.

“Bertie! I didn’t mean to, please don’t be cross.”

“Cross?!” Bertram turned away, looking for something to take his anger out on. Grabbing the cushions of the settee he flipped them all, throwing some to the floor in his frustration as he tore the thing apart searching. “Just find the bloody little gnat and get out!” He turned back around to both his scared friend and scowling manservant quietly staring at him, taking him off guard with their silence. “What?” Then he felt it, the cold, wet touch of a tiny amphibian trying to take passage across his neck and strained to look down at his shoulder. Two big black eyes stared back at him and he felt his spirit leave his body in fright as he screamed in terror.

“No, Bertie!” But it was too late and the scared young man found himself flailing his arms wildly like a madman, falling over the coffee table and knocking over anything unfortunate enough to be in his path. Gussie flew out of the way, trying to collect his things and search for his dear pet, terribly worried that the poor girl may have been smashed. But Jeeves, god bless his soul, had already found her and gently placed the amphibian back in the cage where she was safe. He offered a hand to the frantic man, helping him up as his employer thrashed around the floor like a fish.

“I’m sorry Bertie!” Gussie shouted back as he was ushered out the door by the valet, taking his courage with him.

Bertram rose to his feet, angrily righting his clothes as he huffed. “Newt fancying twat,” he mumbled. “Can you believe him, bringing over a blasted lizard of all things and-” he looked up to see his man approaching with an alarming speed, a determined expression on his face. “Now wait here-” But his words were cut off as he found himself yanked to the side and a merciless hand attacked his unexpecting backside. “Jeeves!” He squirmed and tried to pull away but the valet held him firmly in place, a strong grip around his bicep. Then just as quickly as it’d started he was spun around again and came face to face with the tall man, feeling suddenly sheepish.

“You will apologize to Mr. Fink-Nottle for your atrocious behavior.” Jeeves looked around the living room and immediately Bertie knew what he was doing. The valet was looking for a place to take him over his knee but when they both realised there were no available seats, Bertram breathed a sigh of relief.

“Right well uh-” he tried to back away but Jeeves shot him a dark look. “I’ll go chase him down then.”

“First you will answer for your unsightly actions.” The large man’s eyes settled on the coffee table and Bertie realised moments later that his doom had been sealed. Jeeves propped his leg up on the table in an uncharacteristic fashion and grabbed Bertram by the back of his jacket, hauling him up and over his knee.

“No, Jeeves!” he struggled to find his balance as he couldn’t touch the floor on either side. Bertie wrapped his arms around the valet’s leg for some kind of support, bending his knees defensively. “Please, not like this.”

Jeeves didn’t spare a moment, slamming his hand down onto his employer’s backside. “You will learn to behave yourself like the gentleman I know you are.” Bertie cried out as slap after slap rained down on his poor posterior, too lost in his own misery to hear his valet’s lecture. Just the indignity of the thing, being hurled over his man’s knee like a bally child was enough to get through his sour mood. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, yes!” Bertie scrunched his face up in pain, his legs kicking frantically behind him.

“Then you will find no trouble in repeating back to me precisely what it is you understand?” His hand rested on the man’s backside, ready to continue should his patient continue the tantrum.

“Just put me down, for god’s sake Jeeves this is preposter- ah!” The sharp smack came as a surprise to Bertie, he was sure Jeeves would go easy on him while he remained sickly. 

“It appears a reminder is in order,” he lectured, his hand coming down swiftly. “Of how one should conduct themselves with company present.”

“Ow! I didn’t mean to, ah, hurt the damned thing, he shouldn’t have- OW!” He wiggled uselessly across the man’s knee, desperate to ease the sting and avoid another smack. Then with alarming speed he found himself lowered back to stand on his own two feet, staring blankly at his valet. “Oh, well, right,” he sputtered.

“I’m afraid we’re not quite through yet Bertram,” Jeeves informed gravely, his hands moving to undress him. Bertie stepped away, taken aback by this unwelcome news.

“Now wait just a minute-”

“I will not, we’re finishing the matter now.” Jeeves tugged him forward, pulling the man’s suit jacket off his shoulders.

“Jeeves,” he whined, teary eyed. “I didn’t mean to, I don’t like newts crawling on me.”

The valet lowered Betie’s suspenders, moving to unbutton his trousers. “That is not why you’re being smacked Bertram.” With his pants now undone and hanging loosely on his hips, Jeeves lifted him again, setting him in place across his lifted knee.

“But I didn’t mean to lose my temper, please Jeeves-” he choked up, fighting back the tears even without a hand attacking his backside. “Please don’t use the paddle!”

“You have not earned the paddle,” he soothed, lowering Bertie’s pants to rest at his bent knees.

Being too caught up in his feelings and far too upset to think straight, the sick young man threw his hands back, trying to cover his vulnerable seat. “It's not fair! This is all Gussie’s fault,” he argued.

Jeeves very easily captured Bertie’s hands, pinning them against the small of his back without much fight. He sighed softly, knowing this would be difficult for them both. Regardless, the large man lifted his hand, bringing it down after a second to land on Bertram’s posterior with a kindled force. To his surprise, the man across his knee didn’t make a sound but rather tensed his muscles, bringing himself in like a turtle trying to hide in its shell. So his hand came down again, then again, and again. 

He set a steady rhythm, landing a smack every few seconds and alternating from side to side. His hand was actually big enough to cover the young man’s entire backside but he felt it a better tactic to use a rotating pattern. This really set a burning ache and made it easier to settle Bertie down, especially in the midst of a tantrum.

“Have you anything to say for yourself?”

Bertram let out a restrained breath, obviously trying not to break or let the tears through. He shook his head, shoulders held sharply and muscles flexed painfully, his body stiff and unmoving. “Bugger off,” he snapped.

Jeeves’ hand froze in the air, taken aback by the sudden retort. But he knew then that his young gentleman must be in desperate need of a firm hand if he was so willing to provoke him in such a position. He grabbed ahold of Bertie’s underpants, pulling them down to join his trousers while his belligerent patient struggled with renewed vigor. Down came his hand, not missing a beat as he rained down blows to the already red skin. “You will not use such language with me, Bertram Willbeforce.”

“Ah, Jeeves! Stop it, stop it!” His legs kicked back and forth in the air, unable to touch the floor or make contact with anything that could provide a satisfying impact. “STOP!” He demanded, his body contorting with the struggles of his defiance. But still the hand came down, still the pain exploded over and over again on his burning rump and he could do nothing to stop it. “Not fair,” he whined, losing some of his vigor.

“I might ask why one thinks it unfair?” Jeeves inquired, watching his charge carefully.

Bertie fought to gain his composure, wincing at the unrelenting hand that offered no reprieve. “Because Gussie, he did it!”

“And the it in question?”

Damn Jeeves and his sense of duty towards him. “He brought the slimy thing, it’s his fault!”

“Did it occur to you-” the valet stopped, resting his hand against Bertie’s sit spots. “That your guest may have been attempting to lift your spirits to the best of his abilities?”

“I- well- really he knows I don’t like newts.”

“That is no excuse.” His hand came down again and Bertram whined with indignation. “He deserved no such disrespect as you showed him.”

Bertie could hardly think with the aching sting growing so rapidly across his backside and he huffed grumpily. “Fine! Maybe I was a bit rude but- but nobody likes him anyways!”

“Bertram,” Jeeves pushed him forward, exposing his most sensitive sit spots and releasing his arms so he could support himself. Bertie reached down, one hand holding himself up and the other wrapping around his valet’s leg. As the first blow landed and he howled in pain, trying desperately to twist away from the unforgiving hand. “Whether or not he is liked,” he made sure the smacks were extra sharp, leaving no uncertainty to the severeness of his consequences. “Does not dictate the amount of respect he is due as your guest.”

“Alright! I understand, please sto-op” he cried, traitorous tears slipping down his red face.

“Would you treat the Lady Gregson in such a manner, were she to seek accommodation in your residence?”

Good heavens no, he certainly would not! It dawned on him then, how terribly he’d treated poor Gussie and he hung his head in shame. “No” he whispered, his voice wet with tears.

“Do you imagine she would tolerate such behavior from her nephew?” An especially harsh smack landed right on his undercurve and he winced, biting his bottom lip.

“No!”

“Then perhaps-”

A shriek came from the doorway, startling them both so that the entire affair halted in its tracks and they paused. Frozen at the other end of the flat with mouth agape and face as white as sheet, stood Gussie Fink-Nottle. “Oh dear-” he stammered, stepping backwards awkwardly. “I didn’t mean- I forgot my- good heavens!” he tripped over the cabinet, falling on his back as he scrambled to leave.

Bertie however was so overcome with the shame of being found in such a position that he ripped himself out of Jeeves’ grasp, landing in a pile on the floor. But his valet was quicker and helped him up before making his way over to the scared pup that had wandered into their home. Gussie shuffled across the floor desperately, trying to get away from the large man as he now feared for his own backside.

“Now, now hold on a minute-” he tried, but stopped once he reached the back wall and found no available escape. Jeeves stood above him, reaching a hand down to pull him up to his feet, at the same time shutting the front door. They certainly didn’t need any more visitors popping in for a quick hello and a startling discovery. “You’re not going to-” Gussie tried, sweat pouring from his pale forehead as he stood in place, too afraid to move.

“I wouldn’t dream of it Sir,” he reassured. “It appears that you have stumbled across a rather private matter, if you would be so kind as to refrain from sharing your discovery?”

“Oh,” he stared at Jeeves with wide eyes, looking from him to Bertie and then back again. “Is it- I mean, well- a lover’s quarrel?” His voice became a whisper as he uttered the last words, trying his best to be discreet.

The valet’s eyebrows rose in surprise at such an assumption and he turned to look at his young employer who now stood near the settee, rubbing his sore bum.

“Well don’t look at me, of course it’s not!”

“Perhaps we can dissuade the young gentleman’s curiosity if he were to know the reasoning behind our doings?”

Bertie rolled his eyes, stuffing his dress shirt into his pants and slipping the suspenders back over his shoulders. “Oh very well,” he held a finger up in warning. “But I better not hear anything about this down at the Drones, I’m already down a notch for losing that last game of cards.”

Gussie nodded his head rapidly, too nervous to say otherwise. Jeeves put a hand on the man’s back, trying to lead him further into the apartment as Bertram fixed a place to sit down. Meanwhile the poor newt collector could do nothing but comply, if not a bit hesitantly as he took a seat opposite his friend. But even as he looked across and saw Bertie’s face, that scene wouldn’t stop playing in his mind, it was such an unusual thing to stumble across. Granted it wasn’t completely out of the ordinary, it was rather common-place actually to see an impish young lady over a gent’s knee on occasion, but being taken in hand by one’s own manservant? Odd indeed.

Bertram stared back at him, his face still wet with tears even as he tried to appear peeved off. It didn’t fool Gussie nor the valet standing to the side, they both knew he was of a sensitive nature, especially so after having just been disciplined. But the newt-lover’s mind raced as they sat in silence. If it wasn’t some kind of lover’s spat then what was it, and why hadn’t Bertie sacked his valet for it? He thought of what he might do if his own manservant were to treat him in such a fashion but just blushed at the imagery it provided. Of course Jeeves was wise beyond his years, always had a level head and knew the right answer at every turn. In which case, maybe he was right in smacking his friend, Jeeves was never wrong.

Bertie shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fidgeting like a young boy made to sit in a church pew. “A spot of tea?” He offered, wiping at his face.


End file.
